


Seule Ce Soir

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: It was a beautiful place, Paris, especially now that the Nazis had gone. The kind of place where young lovers strolled arm-in-arm along the river or through the park, and music wafted lazily on the breeze wherever you went. It was the kind of place a guy shouldn’t mind riding out the last, gasping breaths of a dying war, Buck reminded himself, probably for the hundredth time.
Relationships: Buck Compton/Donald Malarkey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Seule Ce Soir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).



> **Muccamukk** asked for some Compton/Malarkey for [In a Peartree](https://in-a-peartree.dreamwidth.org/) and I have come to deliver.
> 
> Not beta-read but I hope you enjoy it anyway friend! Happy holidays!

It was nearing midnight in Paris. The evening was balmy and clear, the sky a cozy blanket of rich blue velvet overhead, studded with stars that seemed to spill all the way down into the glittering city. It was a beautiful place, Paris, especially now that the Nazis had gone. The kind of place where young lovers strolled arm-in-arm along the river or through the park, and music wafted lazily on the breeze wherever you went. It was the kind of place a guy shouldn’t mind riding out the last, gasping breaths of a dying war, Buck reminded himself, probably for the hundredth time.

It was a funny thing though, being stationed in such a beautiful place after so many long hours spent slogging through the mud, the snow, your buddy’s blood. Most of the time, Buck expected to wake up in a field hospital somewhere with his feet still half-rotting off and discover it had all been a dream. Most of the time, he was secretly, silently disappointed that it wasn’t.

Buck being a first lieutenant, his hotel room was nowhere near grand enough to boast a proper balcony, but the window was big and Buck had opened it up as far as it would go. He was sitting on the ledge with a half-drunk glass of wine in hand, one foot on sill with his knee bent up and the other dangling down to brush the carpet. He had abandoned his shoes somewhere near the door, along with his socks, and tossed his jacket haphazardly onto the bed. His cap was—somewhere. The end table, maybe, or on the reading chair in the corner, though Buck was deep enough in his cups that he didn’t quite remember or care.

He thought the best part of Paris was probably the wine. Oh, the women were beautiful and the men charming, if also effete in the way that never failed to get under Buck’s skin, but the wine was likewise liberal and delicious and usually made for better company of a night. He sipped at his glass—his third, or maybe fourth that evening—and rested his head back against the window frame, closing his eyes. There was a distant chorus of voices floating up from the street, conversation and laughter and somebody singing, loud and amorous and off-key. Buck let it all wash over him like a slow-ebbing tide. Paris was beautiful, he thought again. He was lucky to be here.

The knock, when it came, was so quiet that at first Buck thought he’d imagined it. He blinked back to awareness and turned his head, curious. The sound stuttered through the room again a few seconds later, a little louder, and Buck frowned at the door. He wasn’t expecting any company, but he stood and straightened himself up a bit anyway, slipping his suspenders back up onto his shoulders and tugging his collar into place. He didn’t bother doing up all of the buttons on his blouse, just smoothed a hand over his hair and set his glass on the corner of the dresser as he passed.

When he tugged the door open, his fingers twitched with the sudden urge to pinch himself because that was Don Malarkey standing in the hall. Maybe, Buck thought hopefully, he really _was_ dreaming. 

“Don?” he asked, more than a little breathless.

“Hey, Buck.” Don looked tired, but miles better than when Buck had last seen him, otherwise. He was clean-shaven, with his hair combed back and fixed with pomade, every button and medal on his class-A’s polished to a mirrored shine. There was a shy, familiar curl at the corner of his mouth and a brush of pink under his pale skin that clashed wondrously with his auburn hair. Christ, he looked good. “Been awhile.”

“Yeah,” Buck laughed, still reeling like he’d just been sucker-punched. “Yeah, I’ll say.” He took a step forward and looped one arm around Don’s shoulders, towing him in until he was pressed flush against Buck’s chest, and slipping the other around his waist. 

The motion knocked Don’s cap askew and sent it tumbling to the floor, not that either of them seemed especially bothered. Don didn’t even appear to notice. He laughed and returned the embrace, bringing his arms around Buck’s back and grabbing eager handfuls of Buck’s blouse.

“What’s it been, years?” Buck said into Don’s hair. It was clean and soft and smelled the same as Buck remembered from Bastogne, and Eindhoven, all the way back to Upottery. 

“Sure feels like it,” Don agreed, in a low murmur. There was a hoarse edge to his voice that made Buck’s eyes sting.

He squeezed them shut for a moment and took a careful, jittery breath. He was vividly aware of the fact that two men twined together in a hotel hallway was enough to raise eyebrows, even in Paris, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet. “How the hell are you?”

“Still standing,” Don grinned against Buck’s shoulder. “Somehow.” He seemed likewise disinclined to concede his grip on Buck, which made something pleasant and warm shiver through Buck’s chest.

“Good,” Buck sighed. “That’s good.” He left the arm around Don’s waist but shifted the other, bringing his hand up to curl cautiously around the back of Don’s neck, slow enough that Don could shake him off if he wanted to. He didn’t, and so Buck brushed his fingers up through Don’s hair, reveling in the way Don practically collapsed against him.

“Fuck,” Don sighed, a little bitten-off gust of a thing. His voice was thick and low. “I missed you.” He had his face functionally buried in Buck’s chest, but that didn’t stop him from shaking his head back and forth, mussing the neat coif of his hair against Buck’s half-undone shirt. “I - Buck - ” he croaked, and then swallowed and huffed a mournful little laugh. “I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again.”

Buck didn’t know what to say to that, so he just pressed his face into Don’s hair and held on. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there clutching each other, but by some miracle they were left blessedly alone, Buck stroking his thumb along the base of Don’s skull while Don just breathed, slow and pained and warm where it gusted through the cotton of Buck’s blouse.

After a few minutes, or maybe a half an hour, Don sighed and loosened the grip he had on Buck’s shirt. Buck took the cue to straighten up, though he left one hand curled over Don’s shoulder.

Don’s eyes were red and his face was blotchy, hair sticking up in all directions. Buck didn’t think a single one of the wonders in Paris could compare.

“Winters transferred me,” Don said, apropos of nothing. Buck frowned.

“Where to?”

“Here,” Don said. He flushed even redder and cut a sheepish glance down the hall, waving his hand in a broad, vague gesture meant to encompass their greater surroundings as he amended, “Paris, I mean. I’m stationed in Paris.”

Buck’s heart thudded hard against his ribs. He felt giddy and ebullient, like he was in danger of floating off into the stratosphere. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Don nodded.

“How long?”

Don shrugged. “Rest of the war, I guess. ‘Til I got enough points to go home, anyway.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. “Thought I’d come up early, you know. Get situated, see the sights.” _See you,_ he didn’t say, but Buck heard it anyway in the shy hunch of his shoulders and the hopeful flicker of his gaze.

“Well,” Buck said, grin carving dimples into the planes of his cheeks, “it’s lucky for you that I scouted ahead, huh?”

Don huffed a laugh, ducking his head, and Buck squeezed his shoulder. His eyes were dark and luminous when he looked up.

“Where’re you staying?” Buck asked. Don shook his head.

“I hadn’t gotten that far,” he admitted. “Headquarters’ll put me up somewhere on Wednesday but I figured I’d just rent a room until then.”

Buck nodded, slow, and chewed on his lip for a thoughtful second. “Bed’s pretty big,” he offered, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Bigger’n a foxhole in the Bois Jacques, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Don asked, barely more than a whisper. He glanced past Buck to the room at his back and licked his lips. “I uh - I don’t sleep so good, nowadays. With everything that happened, y’know, just - ”

“Don,” Buck interrupted. He lifted his hand from Don’s shoulder and brought it up to cup his cheek. Don looked like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and frozen a spare second from fleeing. Buck brushed his thumb up Don’s cheek and then back down again, nodding intently as he said, “Stay.”

Don closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to curl over Buck’s wrist. Buck was sure Don could feel the thready tattoo of his pulse drumming whitewater fast under his skin.

“Alright,” Don sighed. He nodded and opened his eyes again, dark and serious. “I’ll stay, Buck. On one condition.”

“Name it,” Buck said.

Don watched him, mouth quirking slow and sticky, and warned, “You’d better not hog the linens.”

“Only one way to find out,” Buck grinned, and pulled Don inside while he laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Seule Ce Soir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643583) by [Podfics by Isabelle (isabellerecs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabellerecs/pseuds/Podfics%20by%20Isabelle)




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